


By the Horns

by epkitty



Category: Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Fight Sex, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-02
Updated: 2011-03-02
Packaged: 2017-10-16 01:17:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/166883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/epkitty/pseuds/epkitty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Glorfindel and Haldir never did get along.</p>
            </blockquote>





	By the Horns

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jaiden_s](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=jaiden_s), [Mirasaui](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mirasaui/gifts).



The fox has a crafty spirit. The fox prepares her den for winter, and knows how to steal food from others. The fox may lead hunting dogs astray and hide her cubs from predators. She uses her eyes and her ears. She may outwit owls, distract raccoons, bargain with crows, and even negotiate between bulls.

In the animal kingdom, there are all manner of shows and games to determine authority, territory, and mates. It is rare that the stallion mauls the colt, the eagle eats the egret, the stag locks horns with stag. When it happens, it is complete and absolute and over in moments.

The way of Elves will never be as simple, straightforward, or swift as that of the lower creatures.

Still, there are moments when the fox wonders. There are moments, even, when she may outfox Elves.

= = = = =

“It’s NOT my FAULT!”

“Well, it certainly wasn’t mine!”

“Clothing doesn’t just disappear!”

“Stop repeating yourself.”

“Stop harassing me!”

Two Elves were stomping through the undergrowth.

Both were relatively tall. Both were broad, and muscular. The warrior’s physique. One was built like a swordsman; the other, like an archer. One had purely golden hair; the other, hair more akin to tainted moonlight. One had eyes of versatile blue; the other, eyes of harsher hazel.

Both were naked.

Except for their boots.

One carried a belt and scabbard with a sheathed sword. The other had a quiver strapped about his naked torso and carried a slender longbow.

Both were covered in the red lines of claw marks.

Both were furious.

“Could it have been your brother?”

“No! Could it have been your Counselor?”

“First of all,” Glorfindel huffed, “Erestor is not MY Counselor. Second of all, this isn’t his style. Third of all, he can’t cover his tracks worth shit.”

Haldir chuckled. “I can’t believe I am mistaken. I thought Erestor WAS your Counselor, if you catch my drift.”

“Stop drifting in that direction; you’re way off course.”

“Rumors aren’t all their cracked up to be, then?” Haldir wondered, his ire momentarily cooling. “An awful persistent falsehood it is.”

Glorfindel allowed himself a grudging smile. “People are romanticized by the notion,” he calmly explained. “Two Elves, so different, but of equal standing. Seen together often enough to make people wonder. They see passion where there is only ideological friction. Love where there is friendship. They see what they want to see. It is simple.”

“So, he wasn’t interested,” Haldir inferred.

Glorfindel rolled his eyes. “Neither was I. There’s nothing between us. At first, the rumors were amusing. They have since grown annoyingly stagnant.”

“Well,” Haldir grumpily huffed, changing the subject with droll sarcasm, “I can’t wait until we arrive within sight of the telain.” He groaned. “I’ll never live this down.”

Not knowing how angry Haldir actually was, Glorfindel risked a hearty laugh. “We’ll start some rumors of our own! I can hear the questions already: ‘what do you mean you weren’t doing anything? You were both naked, weren’t you?’”

Haldir nodded grimly. “We never got along well enough for people to believe we were amiably bathing together.”

“Well, it wasn’t amiable.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Haldir pointed out, gruffness in his normally purr-like tones.

They were walking roughly side-by-side. Parallel enough to keep each other in their peripheral vision. Without actually looking.

“Damn bloody awful badgers,” Haldir continued, mumbling. “I think I’m still bleeding.” Then, even lower. “Your fault.”

Glorfindel dug in his feet, turning to face Haldir. “My fault? No! No! YOUR fault! This is YOUR territory, Haldir! You should know where these things live!”

“I’m a border guard; I DON’T know every corner of the Wood. YOU were the one who approached the damn burrow!”

“Well, I’ve never seen so many in one place!” Glorfindel protested. “I never thought there’d be THAT many in ONE den! Besides, they had NO reason to attack! I was friendly!”

“Glorfindel! We’re five times bigger than a badger! No wonder they didn’t want us in their territory!”

They were standing several paces apart now, glaring fiercely at one another, churning with frustration not only at the situation, but at its absurdity.

Despite the fact that Glorfindel had been closer to the den, Haldir had more scratches, mostly on his lower legs and forearms, some still bleeding, even with the salve they’d applied after the rinse in the stream. He really did look a mess. And his hazel eyes were grown flecked with brown and blue-gold in his anger. “You really are as idiotic as you pretend to be,” he snarled.

“I’m not the one who begged, ‘don’t kill them! They’re just animals!’ You wouldn’t even let me DEFEND myself!”

“Well, they ARE just animals!” Haldir shouted. “And we weren’t hungry! It was your stupidity, not their anger, that got us in this fix!”

Glorfindel threw his hands up and roared, short and guttural. “Argh! All I want now is just to know where our clothes went!”

“Give it up. They’re gone. Just leave it.” And Haldir stalked off.

Practically stomping his feet in anger, Glorfindel charged after him. “Yeah. Leave it.” He caught Haldir’s shoulder and spun him around. “You’re right, you know. We’re going to be the laughing stocks of Elvendom.”

Haldir roughly pulled away, practically recoiling from the physical contact. “DON’T. Touch me.” The warning in his eyes matched the warning in his voice. Don’t touch me, or else.

Glorfindel growled, unwilling to step back, unwilling to give ground.

= = =

On many levels, life is an act. Elves may choose to act professional or friendly, calm or generous, sarcastic or cold. Animals do not employ such careful controls. Animals do not choose what to show or what to hide. Animals simply are. They obey only instinct; they fear only pain.

All Elves have similar instincts and fears. All Elves exert control over them. All Elves may choose not to. But few do.

Glorfindel and Haldir were reaching the choose-not-to moment, the moment when words become irrelevant, when actions speak for all, when instinct takes over and fears are in control.

= = =

In this moment, they are angry, they are frustrated. They are cold and uncomfortable; they feel exposed and vulnerable.

Neither Elf is accustomed to, nor welcomes, vulnerability.

Both feel that they are in the right, that they should somehow win, somehow dominate, somehow prove their victory. Both know, against their pride, that the other is a little bit right, too.

Glorfindel feels hot on the inside, cold on the outside. Feels a little stupid, a little dangerous. Feels more and more, thinks less and less.

Haldir feels intruded upon, his space violated. He feels he must defend himself, defend his pride, defend his honor. He, too, is moving away from thought and into feeling.

= = =

Taking a bull by the horns is never a good idea, even if you too are a bull with an equally large set of horns.

= = =

Glorfindel punched Haldir’s shoulder. Not hard enough to hurt, not even hard enough to make him stagger. But hard enough to make him wince, hard enough to say, ‘I can touch you if I like; what are you gonna do about it?’

Some part of Haldir realized he was going to do something very petty. A far larger part realized he didn’t care. He punched Glorfindel. In the jaw. Hard.

Glorfindel stumbled back, threw his belt and sword aside. Spat red-tinged saliva to the ground. Growled.

Haldir dug his boots into the earth, tossed his bow to the grass and unhooked the quiver, letting it fall.

Unbeknownst to the pair of Elves, they were not alone. They were surrounded by trees that had been around long enough to know what was coming, by birds that were smart enough to flee, by small animals who sensed the tension in the air and slunk far away from the meeting of bulls who glared their fire eyes and reared their sharp horns and stamped their angry hoofs.

In their animalistic fervor, decency lay abandoned, fairness forgot, common sense tossed aside. There was no finesse and little style.

There was haste.

Glorfindel charged, sprinting forward the short distance to ram his entire bulk into Haldir’s not inconsiderable mass, forcing the Galadhel to the ground.

There was viciousness.

Haldir grabbed Glorfindel’s nearest leg and sunk his teeth into the skin just above his boot.

There was nastiness.

Glorfindel reached down to grab a handful of tainted moonlight hair and tug, thereby removing Haldir’s teeth from Glorfindel’s leg.

There was retaliation.

Haldir aimed a punch at Glorfindel’s head. Missed. Attempted to knee his groin. Missed. Delivered a brutal kidney punch. Glorfindel let go his hair.

There was sloppiness.

Glorfindel sent a roundhouse kick toward Haldir’s shoulder. Missed. Haldir tried to catch the foot. Didn’t.

There was crudeness.

Glorfindel tackled Haldir, sending them both to the forest floor, scratching and snarling and fumbling.

There was cruelty.

Glorfindel spit in Haldir’s face. Haldir wiped it away and boxed Glorfindel’s ears, leaving him dazed, reversed their positions.

There was swearing.

“Ah! My fucking ears! Bastard!”

There was all manner of messiness.

Haldir shoved Glorfindel’s cheek into the dirt. Glorfindel ripped out a few strands of Haldir’s hair. Haldir howled. Blood leaked from his temple. He scratched at Glorfindel’s eyes; Glorfindel caught his wrists and twisted him away.

There was renewed vigor.

They crouched on booted feet before attacking again, charging like rabid, thoughtless beasts, regardless of who or where or when or what, concerned only with the vastly angered here and now.

There was arousal.

They were hard. At first -- it was funny -- at first they didn’t even notice. Everything else was too loud, the I-need-to, I-have-to, the push and pull and shove. It was the second time when they were rolling around on the ground, vicious and snarling, that they noticed. First, they only noticed the other’s reaction, and it enraged them. It took further wordless screaming and struggling to realize that they themselves had also grown stiff with sexual desire.

There was a moment.

Haldir, on his back with Glorfindel laying over him, froze first, eyes wide, motionless except for the heavy panting breaths. Sensing the sudden change, Glorfindel stilled as well, his eyes staring not at Haldir, but at the patch of grass over his shoulder.

Reason returned. Momentarily.

“This is pretty foolish, huh?” Glorfindel grumbled, hot breath puffing at Haldir’s shoulder.

“No better than animals,” Haldir agreed, wide hazel eyes darting toward Glorfindel’s face, his hair, his pointed ear, the sky above, the overarching branches.

“Why are we . . . ?”

“I don’t know.”

Glorfindel shifted, unintentionally building the pleasurable friction between them. “Shit.”

“Arh, fuck,” Haldir agreed.

Maybe they thought that if they just stayed very still, it would go away.

“I’m going to get off you now,” said Glorfindel.

“All right.”

Neither moved.

“You said you’re going to move.”

“I am,” Glorfindel agreed.

Neither moved.

“I really want to kiss you,” Glorfindel confessed without grace or restraint, desire evident in the husky tones of his voice.

Haldir did not answer. He was still looking at the pattern the criss-crossing branches made against the so blue sky.

“Can I kiss you?”

Haldir blinked, letting his focus fuzz into something less distinct. “You don’t ask if you can hit me, but you ask if you can kiss me?”

“Well. Yeah.”

Haldir rolled his eyes, forced Glorfindel over and onto his back, straddled the golden Elf and leaned down to brutally attach his lips to Glorfindel’s mouth.

Funny how swiftly some urges may overcome others.

Whether it was a transformation of need, or the outweighing of one over another, didn’t matter. Past was passed. This was now.

Hands that had wanted to hurt now wanted to touch, to explore, to stimulate and, yes, claim to a certain degree.

Glorfindel didn’t want to be on his back. With Haldir over him like that. It was too confining, too compliant. He fought restlessly to turn the tables, but Haldir was using his body to the best of his knowledge, keeping the golden Elf pinned to the forest floor, still plundering the hot mouth that tasted like the copper of blood from teeth that had jarred against the skin when Haldir had punched him.

“How’re we gonna do this?” Haldir rumbled against Glorfindel’s reddened lips.

“Do what?” Glorfindel whined as Haldir’s fingers stroked an ear.

Haldir reached down between them to grasp Glorfindel’s engorged cock. “This,” Haldir pointedly told him.

“Oh,” Glorfindel wondered, “That.”

Haldir grinned wickedly and began stroking him, enjoying all the animalistic sounds wrung from Glorfindel’s throat, the wild expressions on his handsome face, the writhing of the strong, hardened body beneath him.

“Just,” Glorfindel gasped, “By Elbereth! Just . . . make me come!”

Nodding, Haldir slid a leg between Glorfindel’s, straddling his thigh so that their cocks could rub together between taut bellies.

Such pure stimulation drove all lingering thought away. Such complete and easy pleasure drowned all memory of pain or anger. Such a wealth of feeling, from such a vicious struggle between two such prideful beings.

= = =

If neither felt they had lost, it was because neither felt they had won. The battle was done, the competition become an alliance. An alliance of something mutual, born of a lifetime of opposition.

= = =

There was haste, but no viciousness.

There was crudeness, but no nastiness.

There was swearing, but no cruelty.

There was sloppiness, but no retaliation.

There was all manner of messiness.

There was renewed vigor.

There was arousal.

“Glorfindel!”

“Yes!”

“Elbereth . . .”

“Don’t stop.”

“Ah . . .”

“Fuck!”

There was a moment.

They came within seconds of one another, moving with the fervor of any rutting animal, harsh and steady. Eyes locked. Breathing secondary to feeling.

Eyes too wide, eyes showing too much.

They pushed away, rolling away on the sun-goldened grass they had flattened, naked chests heaving, eyes taking in with sudden appreciation the brilliance of the distant forest canopy.

= = =

Animals who mate do so because of primal instinct to procreate. They may perform courtship rituals, or fight for the right to copulate. They may stay together afterward, to share the burden of parentship. Or they may kill one another. Or they may part, never to be seen again. Or they may stay together ever afterward, returning always to one another. But never do they have to fight against propriety, duty, or friendship.

Elves do not have that luxury.

= = =

There were questions; of course there were. This was unprecedented, this was without explanation, this was insane and unpredictable and complicated.

“Back to the stream?” Glorfindel asked.

“Back to the stream,” Haldir agreed.

= = = = =

In a little nook of the Golden Wood, there is a fox den. In the fox den is a mother and three cubs. The lining of the den is made of the finest gray cloth made by Galadriel’s handmaidens, and the cruder fabric of an Imladrian traveler.

= = = = =

The end.


End file.
